


Melting Heart

by FloraTheWriter



Series: Coven [1]
Category: Stray Kids (Band)
Genre: A bit of historical fiction, Additional Tags to Be Added, Alternate Universe, Angst, Blood Magic, Covens, Deception, Demons, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Ex-lovers to Lovers, Fluff, Humor, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Magic, Magic Related Violence, Magjc Rituals, Mentions of hunting, Non-Graphic Sexual Content, Prophecies, Rivalry, Someone Gets Restrained With Magic At One Point, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-10
Updated: 2021-02-10
Packaged: 2021-03-16 21:34:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 11,993
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29089146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FloraTheWriter/pseuds/FloraTheWriter
Summary: Three Heirs are forced to put aside their rivalry to prevent a war between their covens. Will their differences work to their advantage, or will their differences be the cause of their downfall?
Relationships: Hwang Hyunjin/Lee Minho | Lee Know, Lee Minho | Lee Know/Yang Jeongin | I.N
Series: Coven [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2134254
Comments: 7
Kudos: 28
Collections: SKZ Seasons of Love





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [SKZ_Seasons_of_Love](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/SKZ_Seasons_of_Love) collection. 



> **Prompt:**
> 
> Starcrossed lovers type of fic that includes at least in a small part a bit of summer solstice celebrations. If possible would love to see it in an urban setting. Any rating is ok.

**Prologue** :  _ Litha, June 10 _ _ th _ _ , 1727 _

The bonfire blazed like a giant orange flower in full bloom. Streaks of flame cut through the darkness as if lunging after the remnants of golden sunlight. Showers of orange sparks lit the night’s sky like silent fireworks, and the constant crackle of burning wood was drowned out by the sounds of song and laughter.

Minho wove between dancing bodies, careful not to step on the hems of flowing dresses, and long glimmering silver trinkets that hung from ankles. Despite the heat from the bonfire, his bare feet felt cool against the grass. He kept his fur-lined hood up, casting his face in shadow lest anyone be made to feel uneasy by his presence. Although, he would always be welcome to join Litha celebrations, as all witches were. Litha, a celebration of the Summer Solstice, was a day of forgiveness, of mercy, of kindness, and love. Even your enemy should be embraced during Litha – a requirement that often posed difficulty for Minho.

Just the thought made him tightly wrap his cloak around himself, his hand wrapped around the pommel of the sword that he kept hidden from view. He didn’t expect any of his enemies to leap from the shadows, but he wouldn’t let his guard down either. This hilltop was a distance away from the nearest village, but he didn’t trust human folk. Mortals. They were dangerous, more so when they suspected magic. It was as if they were hounds that could smell magic in the air, even when there was none. Accusations flew from their mouths, swords pointed at the innocent, and how they enjoyed the burning… A low growl erupted from Minho’s lips at the memory. 

He turned his head at a rustling sound from behind an elm, and spotted the witch before he was called. “Minho,” the witch beckoned with a nod of his head. 

Minho met him behind the elm, low hanging branches shielding them from view. “Your letter left much to be desired,” he said in manner of greeting. 

Changbin nodded, his face grave. “It wasn’t something I could risk in a letter. A fortnight ago, I had a vision.”

Minho’s chest tightened. Changbin, a gifted oracle like many of his ancestors, had yet to miss his mark with a vision. They all rang true, sooner or later. “When Litha comes to an end, I’m afraid the mortals will lose yet another monarch.”

“King George, the First,” Minho murmured, fixing Changbin with a solemn stare. “How?”

“Poisoned by someone on his voyage to Hanover,” Changbin said, shaking his head in disapproval. 

But Minho arched a brow in suspicion, “What kind of poison? Did you see?”

“I know what you’re thinking,” Changbin gave him a wry smile. “I was getting to that. The elixir I saw in my vision – as black as ink with glass-like crystals, and colorless once poured into a glass of red wine. A speciality of the Blackblood Coven.”

Minho inhaled sharply. Of course the Blackbloods would be involved. It was folly to mix oneself in mortal matters, but that coven never learned. “Who served him the wine?”

“Melusine, his mistress. At his death, she transformed,” Changbin explained, his kohl-lined eyes filled with worry. “Golden hair. Amethyst eyes.”

Minho balked, his fingers slipping from the hilt of his sword. A Blackblood had been the mistress of the king! To meddle in mortal lives to this extent… It should be unforgivable. Yet even Minho and Changbin were not significant enough to mete out punishment – or an official punishment, at least. But Minho could hunt her down, punish her for meddling and make himself scarce before anyone from the Blackblood Coven even realized that Melusine was not in their midst. His lip curled in anticipation.

“She has to live, Minho,” Changbin said as if reading his mind. Minho began to argue but was cut short by Changbin. “I had a dream.”

“A dream,” Minho barked, clenching his fists. “Not a vision.” 

Changbin bristled at this, “Sleep often shows you the truth you cannot see in wakefulness. One of the first lessons I learned. Now, listen.” And Minho listened begrudgingly. Changbin was at least four decades older than him after all. “Melusine must live. Peace between witchfolk and humankind will be easily achieved in the decades to come. But peace between the covens will not be won so easily. Things are going to deteriorate, and escalate into a full-blown war, Minho. If you truly want peace between our covens, Melusine must live. The Blackbloods must thrive.”

“ _ Thrive _ ?” Minho blanched. “And if I don’t want peace?”

Changbin’s answer made Minho wonder whether he’d had another vision, one that Minho wasn’t privy to. “You  _ will _ want peace. Perhaps not now, but to avoid the carnage you will want peace. So tell me, Lee Minho of the Silvercloaks, do you choose to hear a prophecy that will change the world, or do you choose blood and blade?”

* * *

For century upon century, Minho's brethren had watched over the mortals, just like one would watch over a churning elixir in a cauldron, making sure that the liquid didn’t bubble over, that it didn’t catch alight, that it remained at the perfect consistency. At the very beginning they watched humankind grow, multiply, watching their beliefs, their perceptions, their culture in a constant shift. They had watched the mortals at war, watched them mourn, watched them celebrate, and when the witchfolk had grown tired of watching them make mistake after mistake, they had revealed themselves to the mortals in an attempt to intervene. It hadn't gone well for Minho's folk.

At first they'd been hunted, held prisoner for attempting to help, put on trial and burned for trying to correct the mistakes of mortals. Then came the age of man that simply refused to believe in the existence of the witchfolk, dismissing magic as insanity, as a hoax. And now, finally, they walked freely among humankind who accepted that magic had been woven into the fabric of their world, who knew that accepting – and welcoming – its existence would be beneficial. 

Even after a century and a half, Minho still found himself staring in awe as mortal and immortal walked and worked side by side. It still gave him pause, still sent a flicker of panic through his heart whenever human eyes settled on the magic bleeding from his palms, still made him fight the urge to flee, to hide. But even after the tense history between the witchfolk and the mortals, he was unable to help the almost parental sentiment that had crept into his chest whenever he looked upon a mortal, for the ones that had once shunned and hunted his kind no longer walked the earth and he held no grudges, and would bear no ill will towards their offspring. Besides, Minho had more pressing matters to attend to. Matters that had been brewing over centuries and may very well take another few centuries to resolve.

While peace had settled between humankind and witchfolk, the relationship between the witch covens had somewhat deteriorated over the centuries. Squabbles over territory, over power, over superiority had wounded the bond between the covens, and as solutions to their conflicts failed, the wounds had festered into something ugly, something poisonous filled with contempt and jealousy. Over seven hundred covens existed, scattered around the world, but three covens in particular teetered on the edge of war: Silvercloaks, Blackbloods, and Brackens. Minho belonged to one of these covens.

It was to a meeting between the Three Covens of Emdel City that Minho now ventured, anticipating the worst. While meetings with all three High Witches were rare, it was even rarer for the High Witch of the Blackblood Coven to request – no,  _ demand _ – a meeting. There was only one reason the Blackbloods would do such a thing, and Minho's heart weighed heavy with dread because of it. 

Their portal opened just within the gates enclosing the residence of the Bracken Coven – their volunteered host for the evening – and Minho stepped onto the grass, rolling back the tension from his shoulders and giving his raven bangs a brush with his fingers. He followed behind his mother, looking ever like the obedient heir following behind the High Witch of the Silvercloak Coven. True to their coven name, both mother and son wore silver cloaks, soft, silky, almost liquid against his skin, woven from molten starlight – inherited from their ancestors. The cloak was fastened with two diamond laden pins, and more glittering jewellery hung from his neck, his wrists and adorned his fingers. Minho wasn't one to flaunt the wealth of his coven, but today even he knew that it was necessary; a show of their power against any who may question it.

The residence of the Bracken Coven always made Minho's head swim with memories of past centuries. The house itself, a classic Victorian that spanned several acres, made Minho's lips curve into a smile as he recalled the costumes, the revelry, the friends and lovers that had come and gone in that age. But inside the house was reminiscent of a large library, conveying the interests of the Bracken Coven – knowledge. These witches had no interests outside of their books and scrolls. Minho knew the layout of this house well. While he was allowed into this meeting, when he was younger there had been many meetings that he’d been shut out from, leaving him to explore the Bracken house under the watchful gaze of the Bracken heir.

Two Bracken sentinels stood before the closed oak doors. And Minho knew entry would only be permitted by those who could weave the entry spell that had been chosen by the host. He waited for his mother to enter before it was his turn to weave the spell. 

Minho smiled as he began. He loved magic. He loved being a witch. There were some who thought of it as a burden, but not Minho. Magic was an art form.

Magic consisted of numbers, letters and pictures –  _ symbols _ . Weaving a spell from magic meant arranging those symbols into a command. If the pattern was correct, the magic would work. Sometimes you could arrange symbols with a singular thought, envisioning each symbol falling into place. Sometimes, like now, it took more effort. Minho used his fingers to move the golden symbols that hovered in the air, into their correct pattern. 

The doors to the dining room opened, allowing Minho to join his mother who stood waiting for him. Minho spotted first, Haolin the Bracken High Witch – a stocky man who like Minho’s mother, didn’t look a day over twenty-one. Changbin, his Heir, stood beside him dressed in the formal button-down black cloak that Minho had come to associate with him. There was a welcoming smile plastered onto his face no doubt at the request of Haolin. But Minho fixed his attention on the Blackblood High Witch, Mikka. She held her head high, dark hair voluminous and unruly, falling to her ankles. 

Minho noticed with a jolt that she had aged and now looked as if she wasn’t a day younger than sixty! He had been right then, about the reason for this meeting, but still... 

While witchfolk were immortal, accepting a position as High Witch meant eventually giving up that immortality. A High Witch would begin to age when they were ready to give up their position in the coven, when they were ready to give up their mortality. The degree of ageing was dependent on the Heir’s degree of readiness to take up the helm.

Minho’s mother remained youthful, looking no older than him. While she had declared Minho as her Heir, she had made no move to start the process of transferring her position to him. He was fine with that.

Minho took a hesitant step forward, peering around the Blackblood High Witch. And sure enough, she wasn’t alone. The Blackbloods had finally chosen to reveal their Heir. And it was about time. For a little over two decades, they'd kept the Heir hidden as per their coven's tradition, honing the Heir's skills, shaping his magic, his beliefs.  _ His _ . A  _ male _ Heir. Minho met Changbin's gaze briefly, a silent acknowledgement that Changbin too understood the implication of this.

Minho used his left hand to firmly grip his right shoulder and bowed his head – the appropriate salute when greeting a High Witch. Changbin did the same for Minho's mother, but the Blackblood heir... Minho found himself hissing at the blatant disrespect, the way he draped himself with an arm slung over the back of the chair, and a leg thrown over the wooden arm. He bowed his head a fraction as he offered a lazy salutation. A  _ child _ , that's what he was. The amount of years this Blackblood heir had lived was merely a breath for Minho. The Blackblood heir had a lot to learn, and yet the High Witch seemed so ready to give him her position.

Minho's mother made a subtle movement of her fingers – an order for Minho to remain calm – enough to halt the seething anger that melded with the magic flowing through Minho’s veins, ready to strike. “Let us begin,” his mother asserted herself, much to the chagrin of the Blackblood High Witch. Minho had to suppress a grin at that.

He kept his eyes on the Blackblood heir, who to his surprise, defiantly held his gaze the entire time. And Minho wasn't bothered; he'd had centuries of practice at this game. He took his time studying the witchling. A pure Blackblood. 

These days witches tended to mate with those outside of their own covens. This meant that it was increasingly difficult to find witches who carried the pure bloodlines of their covens. But this one… Minho had no doubt that he was a pure Blackblood. And Mikka’s first and only child – he could see the resemblance etched into the witchling’s face. 

As far as Minho knew, Mikka had never settled with a mate, so she had probably selected a pureblood witch from her coven just to birth a pureblood Heir. It was typical of her. A High Witch did not  _ have to _ choose an Heir from their own bloodline – that was a practise long forgotten, but Blackbloods held tradition in high regard. 

Minho noted the witchling’s amethyst eyes, silky golden hair that fell to his shoulders, an angelic face structured with beauty – a face many would die for. He realized with a start that those were Blackblood traits that hadn’t made an appearance since… Since Melusine. Even Mikka had not inherited the golden Blackblood hair, or the amethyst eyes from her mother Melusine. 

Those beautiful physical Blackblood traits were a world away from the chaos that the coven thrived on, a world away from the malice that dwelled in their hearts. Still, Minho respected that the Blackbloods didn't use their beauty as a mask for what lurked beneath. They were unapologetic for what they were and what they did. While the Silvercloaks and the Brackens were decked out in finery, jewellery shimmering on them, their outfits dictating their ranks, the Blackbloods were dressed quite... casually.

The Heir was dressed in dark denim jeans with rips artfully decorating his thighs, and a fitted half-zipped leather jacket. Minho had seated himself beside his mother, and as far from the Blackbloods as possible. There was something about their aura that always disrupted the flow of Minho's magic. But today, he found his magic especially affected, tingling in his veins as if his blood sought to flow the wrong way, as if his magic sought to hide, to flee.

He kept his hands in his lap, feeling the ice thickening in his veins, the glacial temperature of his fingertips coating a portion of the underside of the table with a thin layer of ice as he tested his magic, pulling it back and forth, back and forth, his own dark eyes – as dark as the night's sky – never leaving those amethyst eyes. And those lush pink lips curved into a smile as if he knew –  _ as if he knew _ that his presence put Minho on edge, that he – a witchling barely past his second decade – was capable of putting a centuries old witch on edge. 

Minho forced his eyes away, forced himself to focus on the Blackblood High Witch. “I invoke the right of protection for my Heir,” she told them, fiery mirth dancing in her eyes. “Once he ascends and takes my place, the protection may fall.”

Minho kept his face impassive, looking to his mother for her reaction. His mother remained silent, contemplative, and he wondered which crooked schemes were brewing in her mind, what loopholes she would find to plan an attack on the Blackblood Heir. It was the Bracken High Witch who spoke, “You do realize that the right of protection is valid only for half a decade? Surely you can’t hope for your witchling to be ready so soon?”

The Blackblood High Witch let out a cackle, and met the eyes of her son who looked back at her with equal amusement. “I assure you,” she said meeting each one of them with her piercing gaze and even though it had been Haolin who had asked the question, she directed her gaze only at Minho’s mother now, “there is no need to worry, Mael. Hyunjin will be ready.”

_ Hyunjin _ . Minho tested the name in his mind, turning it over with caution as though examining a cursed object. He risked a glance at the witchling who met his gaze with a wicked grin. And Minho could feel it. He could feel the  _ heat _ radiating from the witchling, red, hot, searing heat that caused a bead of sweat to materialize at Minho’s brow. He stared at Hyunjin’s long, slender fingers and could almost envision the flames that could dance at his fingertips. He glanced at Changbin, trying to gauge whether he too could feel this but the Bracken Heir gave no indication that he could. It was as if Hyunjin was directing this at Minho alone.

Minho narrowed his eyes at the witchling, parting his lips, and with a soft breath he conjured a protective wall of invisible ice around himself and his mother. He was taking no chances. 

The witchling only grinned wider, obviously mistaking this as some sort of challenge. Soft tendrils of flame that Minho couldn’t see, but could only feel, began to lick at his wall of ice, running down the length of his wall, probing, testing, teasing. Minho glanced at the rest of table, at the three High Witches deep in talks of rights and violations, and sure that he was being unwatched, he bared his teeth in a ferocious snarl, one that he’d used aplenty on battlefields throughout the ages. 

For a moment, those probing tendrils of flame flickered as did the smile on the witchling’s face. But only for a moment, and then that arrogant grin was back. Heat returned with a vengeance, searing against his wall, licking wildly and without restraint, not to hurt or attack but simply because he could.

Frustrated at the witchling’s will, Minho brought his wall crashing down, going on the offensive this time. He lashed out with his ice, raking his arctic claws across Hyunjin’s neck in a threat. If he wanted to, he could freeze the witchling from the inside out, letting him melt until he was a puddle of nothing. But death was off the cards for five years, and this threat would have to hold until then.

But Hyunjin closed his eyes, tilting his head back, lips parted in what was unmistakably pleasure. Minho flushed with embarrassment. That was not what he’d intended. Not at all. When he withdrew his magic from the witchling, those amethyst eyes flew open. Hyunjin looked at Minho with a mixture of daring and a plea for more. And Minho had to clamp down on the magic that flowed down to his fingertips, itching to give the witchling what he wanted.

He was glad when the High Witches all rose, signalling the end of their meeting, and Minho was through the doors as soon as he was given the go ahead. He didn’t look back at the witchling but could feel those amethyst eyes on his back.

“Are you sure it’s him?” Changbin’s expression turned grim, his brows knitted together as he sipped on freshly brewed coffee.

Minho’s gaze swept the room, aware that if anyone overheard their conversation both he and Changbin would be piles of ash before sunrise. Neither Haolin nor Mael would appreciate their Heirs meeting together to conspire. “I’m sure.” he nodded. Without thinking, he drew a ribbon of clear water out of the glass before him. “The fire…” the ribbon twined around his spread fingers, like the laces of the sneakers he donned after squeezing his feet out of those awful formal shoes. He began to unwind the ribbon from his fingers now, just as his thoughts unwound themselves from the tangle in his mess of a mind. “He has the gift of fire. It’s powerful.  _ He _ is powerful.” The ribbon splashed back into the glass as a sharp shard of ice.

Changbin clicked his tongue, ever the typical Bracken sceptic, needing sureties and not maybes. “Any witch could learn fire magic from a book and with a good instructor,” he argued.

But Minho sighed, adamant that he was right. “You didn’t feel it, Changbin.  _ I _ did. I’ve never…” his teeth grazed his lower lip as he contemplated how to explain it, whether it could be explained. “I’ve never let anyone in like that.” Changbin raised a brow, lips curving in amusement. Minho narrowed his eyes at him in warning. “I just mean that he – he got under my skin. Literally.”

“And why he chose to do so is something we need to think about.”

Minho swallowed hard. Hours had passed but he could remember Hyunjin’s sly smile and those unblinking amethyst eyes, as if it was the witchling before him and not Changbin. The question had been gnawing at him too. Why had Hyunjin been toying with him? He shook his head, focusing on the matter at hand. There was a reason he’d arranged to meet Changbin just outside the City of Emdel. “What matters is that he’s the third piece. Our missing piece. The one we’ve been waiting for.” The one who would turn myth into truth. 

Nearly three hundred years had passed since the night Changbin had told Minho of his dream. It told of a time where there would either be peace or war between the Three Covens of Emdel. Peace would only be granted by the heirs of fire, water and air. Peace had always appealed to Minho and Changbin who saw the conflict between the covens as unnecessary. If the dream was indeed a prophecy, it offered tangible proof that they could achieve that peace and they would be fools to dismiss it. 

“But he’s so young,” Changbin’s teeth hooked into his lower lip and Minho could feel his frustration as a harsh breeze swept around them even though the windows were shut. “He’s too young to understand peace, to want peace. And what if my dream was nothing but that – a dream?” Minho could understand his sudden hesitancy even though he’d been so sure before. They had never expected to find the third piece of their puzzle so soon. Another century at the earliest, but not so soon. 

“I’m not giving up,” Minho said quietly, speaking more to himself than to Changbin. “If peace is within our grasp, I’m going to snag it. We have to try.”

“He’s going to need guidance,” Changbin warned him, his face set in a grimace. “The first ritual must be done during Litha. Three months may not be enough to convince him. He’s a Blackblood. And he doesn’t seem amicable to any kind of alliance. Who knows what lies they’ve been feeding him about us? If we approach him and he sells us out—”

“Then I’ll do it,” Minho offered, although his stomach tied itself into knots at the idea. “I can do it by myself. I’ll keep you out of it for now. If he’s deemed amicable, then… We can begin.”

“It will be difficult,” Changbin cautioned, his eyes filled with a mixture of sympathy and trepidation. “He’s a witchling. As much as he has to learn, you’ll need even more patience. And the risk of betrayal—”

“Is a risk I’m willing to take.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who are wondering, Melusine was indeed the mistress of King George I ⚘


	2. Chapter 2

According to the old tales, the first witchfolk were sculpted by the hands of gods and placed among the mortals as gifts, as tools for the survival of humankind. The magic that flows through the veins of a witch is said to be twined with the blessings of the gods. Similarly, the old tales also speak of those witchfolk who were created not by the gods, but birthed from the demon queen Raweol.

For as long as Minho could remember, the Blackbloods were always rumored to be direct descendants of Raweol, but the coven had neither confirmed nor denied those rumors. And so the other covens kept well away from them, not wanting to associate themselves with the demon queen. Even Minho had taken to those prejudices, and that made his task all the more difficult.

How was it that after all these centuries no one knew where in Emdel the Blackbloods resided? Fair enough, the Blackbloods had never invited another coven into their home, nor had any coven asked for an invitation. But even as Minho enquired among his friends, among the Bracken who knew everything, he could not find their residence. Surely the City of Emdel wasn't so big as to keep an entire coven hidden? Of course there were Blackbloods teeming in and around the city but he couldn't very well ask to be taken to their home when he needed this quest to be a secret.

After another phone call and another "We don't associate with Blackbloods" he sighed in defeat and stopped a few meters into the city centre. His eyes swept over the large display windows of department stores, pharmacies and high-end boutiques all squashed into the city square. Retail therapy didn't sound like such a bad idea. Perhaps he could buy his mother an early birthday gift.

He started for the nearest store, only pausing to watch as a witch, Bracken perhaps, conjured blue shapes – animals, flowers, faces – from her fingertips, a show for the crowd drawing around her, clapping and cheering. One of the blue streaks formed a wheel which catapulted towards the captivated crowd, parting them into two and slowly fading into the air behind them. The crowd turned their gaze back to the witch, watching her with wide eyes. Only one human – a boy no older than fourteen – still faced the fading blue wheel. Minho wondered what caused that sad, distant look on the boy's face as he stood lost in thought. And he wasn't the only one watching the boy. 

Minho's lower lip curled in triumph. The gods were with him today. What were the chances that he would see the very witchling he had been searching for?

Those amethyst eyes, that stark Blackblood trait, now bright and full of amusement, were trained on that boy who had just stepped away from the crowd. Minho watched intently as Hyunjin, casually standing on the sidewalk, beckoned to the human. The boy seemed hesitant but curious as he listened to whatever Hyunjin had to say. The witchling produced a beaded bracelet from inside his leather jacket, dangling it before the human's eyes. Minho narrowed his eyes at the object, using the briefest flicker of magic to get a sense of what it was, and a low growl erupted from his throat. 

He crossed the square in quick strides, sending the bracelet shattering into specks of dust with a flick of his fingers. Both witchling and human looked taken aback by his presence and it was to the human boy that Minho looked first. “Leave.”

Hyunjin clicked his tongue, arrogance taking hold of his features. “What's the fucking problem, Silvercloak? I was only helping.”

“With what?” Minho demanded.

Hyunjin grinned, “Heartbreak.”

Minho had to summon all the restraint he possessed to refrain from murdering the Blackblood Heir on the sidewalk. He clenched his hands into fists and willed his expression into one that was less intimidating as he looked the human boy over. “Child, you'd have better luck dealing with heartbreak in a candy store. A little sugar always seems to fill in the cracks of a broken heart. And I would think twice before buying something magical from a street corner. Evil lurks, waiting for a foothold.”

The human seemed to understand because he cast Hyunjin a scared glance before he retreated. And then Minho turned his attention to the witchling. He took a threatening step forward, seething. “How dare you?” he growled. “How dare you attempt to harm one of my humans?”

To the witchling’s credit, he remained rooted to the spot, that condescending smile plastered on his face. “So possessive of these mortals. I'd hate to think what your lovers must go through.” His voice was a soft caress, and it struck Minho then that he hadn’t heard Hyunjin speak even once during their meeting.

“Do you have any idea what that bracelet would have done to the child?” he asked, his eyes flashing. “It could have maimed him or worse!”

But Hyunjin only laughed, his head tipped back slightly. “At least it would have taken his mind off his heartbreak, right?”

“You Blackblood brat,” Minho hissed, frost coating his fingers. “I may not be able to harm you for the next five years but the moment that protection falls away, I am more than capable of hunting you down and turning your blood into ice. Do you understand?” 

Hyunjin cocked his head to the side, looking less intimidated and more... impressed. And with all seriousness he asked, “You hungry? There's a burger place I wanted to try.”

Minho snorted and took a step back, turning on his heel. Maybe Changbin was right. Hyunjin was too young, too inexperienced. Maybe the prophecy was hogwash. 

“Wait.”

Minho started at the band of heat that circled his wrist.

“I'm not a brat, really.”

Minho raised a sceptical brow and slowly turned to look at the witchling, “Really now?”

The witchling sighed and looked to the sky, arrogance washed away. “I'd just like to know what this is. I want to know what this is between us.” He tightened the leash of heat around Minho’s wrist, “I want to know why I can do this to you so easily. And I want to know why—” he drew the heat away and lifted his fingertips to show the layer of frost beginning to form on them, “—why you can do this to me. I want to know why I like it.”

And Minho couldn't deny that there was something between them. Something more than magic, that made him toe the line between curiosity and foolishness, which made him fall into step beside Hyunjin. The witchling gave him a wicked grin that made molten heat pool in his core, and it had absolutely nothing to do with magic. May the gods have mercy on him – Minho was definitely going to need it.

“Well,” Minho told him, “burgers are out of the question. Sorry to disappoint.” The crestfallen expression on the witchling’s face startled him but he didn’t feel obligated to indulge the brat so he said, “You’re out of your mind if you think we can be seen breathing together, let alone sitting down to a meal at the same table.” He glanced at the passersby knowing that any of them may very well carry news of this meeting to his mother. 

He mulled over where to take the witchling and a place came to mind, but it wasn’t a portal-safe zone and it would mean walking there. Moreover, it would mean showing the Blackblood a very personal piece of Minho’s life. He glanced at Hyunjin who looked put out and even rolled his eyes at Minho, as if he had been in the wrong to point out the obvious danger.  _ He’s just too young _ , Minho reminded himself,  _ and he will learn _ . “Do you know any cloaking magic?”

Hyunjin lifted his chin, his smile smug. “Mother taught me cloaking magic when I turned fourteen.”

“Good,” Minho ignored his haughty attitude. “Then follow me, witchling, and stay a few paces behind.”

Minho started down the street and didn’t have to look over his shoulder to know that Hyunjin was following as he’d instructed; the chaotic thrum of his magic told him enough.

Wending through alleys with quick strides to avoid the usual hustle and bustle of the metropolitan area took Minho at last to a high-rise situated in the better part of the city. “Twenty-second floor,” he said over his shoulder, making his way into the building before Hyunjin.

He hadn’t frequented it much in the last decade – just a handful of times. He opened a few of the windows, scrunching his nose at the musty smell. Cleaning magic wasn’t his forte but before Hyunjin arrived he could at least get rid of the dust that had settled over the furniture.

Minho stopped before the ornate oval mirror that hung in the foyer. A gift from a lover. It seemed almost out of place, too fancy for the simple décor that Minho had opted for. The glass was bordered by silver vines and leaves, and flowers studded with sapphires. Minho ran his fingers over the edges, a smile forming on his lips as he remembered the words that had accompanied the gift.

_ “So you can always see what I see when I look at you.” _

_ Minho frowned, “What do you see?” _

_ “Beauty. Here,” Jeongin touched a hand to Minho’s cheek. “And here too,” he said as he placed his other hand on Minho’s heart. _

If Minho tried hard enough he could still feel the threads of Jeongin’s magic lingering around the mirror. He shook his head. He couldn’t afford the distraction right now.

Precisely six minutes after Minho attempted to clean up, Hyunjin arrived. “What is this place?” he asked, eyes wide as he took in the massive space. “Do you live here?”

“I live with my coven,” Minho answered, kicking off his shoes and flopping down onto the white leather L-shaped couch. “This is just a... a place of my own. When you live this long there are times when the constant company of your coven can become stifling.” Hyunjin huffed, lips forming a wry smile as he studied the sculpture of a pair of doves in flight. He could probably relate to Minho’s need for privacy, even with a mere two decades under his belt. Covens could be overbearing especially where Heirs were concerned. “I bought this apartment because I needed the space, the privacy.”

Hyunjin turned away from the sculpture and gave Minho that devilish grin again. “And a place to fuck your lovers away from judging eyes.” 

Minho grimaced, “That too. Are you going to sit down?”

Hyunjin slipped out of that tight leather jacket surprisingly without much of a struggle and threw it onto the couch. The headphones around his neck came off too, joining his jacket. But instead of sitting he pressed his face, almost childishly against the wide window. Minho's lips twitched at the sight. “What are you looking at?” he asked, pressing his lips together to conceal his amusement.

“Why do you have a soft spot for them?” Hyunjin asked in turn, training his amethyst eyes on Minho. “The humans, I mean. They fucked things up for our kind back then. Badly.” Minho snorted. That was one way to put it. “Is it because you had a mortal lover?”

Minho blinked at the question, startled that the witchling would pry into something so personal. But answering the question would do Minho no harm. And he had to gain the witchling’s trust somehow. “My first lover, in my second decade,” he paused, noting that he'd probably been Hyunjin's age at the time, “was a witch.” Hyunjin sat down on the other end of the couch now, listening intently. “A witch who was hung for helping a woman conceive.”

Hyunjin balked, “But how can you still bear to be around these mortals if—”

“I've had mortal lovers too. A few who died from illness, but more who were killed for sport by my fellow witchfolk,” he chuckled blandly at the flicker of surprise on Hyunjin's face. “Yes,” he nodded, “they were hunted like deer, their bodies left battered and torn, telling of the cruelty they’d endured. I know what it’s like to want to wet your blade with blood of those who have wronged you. I’ve given in to that urge in the past. It took me a while to learn that it solved nothing. When your enemies lurk on both sides of the line, what then? You see, this is why I cannot hold a grudge towards these humans, nor can I hold any grudge towards my own folk. We cannot hate  _ everyone _ , Hyunjin. Or we'll end up alone for any eternity.”

He held Hyunjin’s stare for several moments, daring to lose himself in those unblinking amethyst eyes. And then the witchling asked a startling question. “If you don’t hate everyone, why are you so alone?”

“I’m not,” Minho answered swiftly, despite the damning thud against his chest at the question.

“Seems like you are to me,” Hyunjin’s gaze swept the room, taking in the vast expanse of it and Minho knew he could smell the air that reeked of neglect, that he could see the dust covering surfaces, the loneliness that coiled like springs in the shadows, waiting to pounce as soon as Minho acknowledged the truth – that he was alone. “Are you?” Hyunjin arched a brow, head cocked to the side. “Lonely?”

“Do you like games, witchling?” Minho countered with a question of his own. “Would you like to play?”

Hyunjin’s answering smile was devilish, probably mirroring his thoughts. And Minho took that as a yes. “Can you conjure a flame? A single flame?”

Hyunjin’s grin turned sheepish. “Not the kind of game I had in mind.” But he turned his palm upward, a single flame dancing in the centre as if upon the wick of a candle. 

Minho swept his hand outward, gesturing vaguely to the empty space before them. Hyunjin caught on, and the flame drifted towards the open space, hovering in the air like an orange spectre. Minho smiled in satisfaction, his fingers flared outward, the air in the apartment turning cold. A sound like cracking ice split the air and beads of water materialized, each globule turning into ice and joining. 

A bowl of ice formed below the flame, not quite touching the flame, but near enough. With another flex of his fingers, a duplicate of the bowl – this time upturned like a dome – appeared above the flame. With the snap of his fingers, the rims of each bowl of ice joined, forming a sphere of ice around the flame.

“What’s this supposed to be?” Hyunjin leaned forward in rapt fascination as he observed their creation.

“Our game,” Minho said with a shrug, watching the witchling. “If you can melt the entire sphere, we’ll do whatever you want.” Hyunjin’s eyes shone with determination at this, and Minho wondered what exactly he had in mind. “But if you give up, we’ll do whatever I want.”

“Deal,” Hyunjin said foolishly, without giving it half a thought.

Minho smiled.

Minho’s shirt was soaked with sweat, the pale blue cotton stuck to his body like a second layer of skin. Sweat dripped from his dark hair in a constant trickle, his bangs plastered to his forehead. As his body drained of water, his magic weakened. 

On the other end of the couch, Hyunjin hugged his knees to his chest, rocking back and forth as he tried to warm himself up. Crystals of ice settled on his long blonde locks, set to a glimmer as they reflected the light. Minho couldn’t help but think it was a beautiful sight, even with the slight blue tinge that bruised across Hyunjin’s skin. The witchling stared at the flame in wearying determination. His fingers twitched as he willed the flame to burn hotter, growing the flame so that its tendrils extended through Minho’s sphere of ice. A large shard of ice fell to the ground, shattering into tiny pieces.

Hyunjin glanced at Minho now, unable to conceal the slight concern on his face. “You look a bit… Maybe we should call it quits. I’m winning anyway, aren’t I?” He was obviously trying to summon some of his arrogance back into his voice, but it was already overwhelmed with concern. “We can even call it a tie.”

Minho’s face remained a perfect mask of nonchalance, veiling the surprise he felt. Blackbloods didn’t settle for stalemates. Blackbloods went for the win, no matter how small the game, no matter who their opponent was. Blackbloods didn’t stop to ask after the health of their opponents.

Hyunjin was different. He may be a Blackblood, but somehow, he wasn’t like the rest of them. Changbin was wrong about him.

Eager to finish this game now, Minho straightened his aching body and summoned a bottle of water from the fridge. He twisted the cap open and set the bottle down. With a movement of his fingers the bottle emptied of water, his magic absorbing every drop. With his magic replenished, strength returned to his limbs and he stretched his arms, ignoring the way Hyunjin gaped at him. It took only a second to mend the sphere, reinforce it with another layer of ice, and because he really was getting bored he filled the sphere until it was just a giant ball of ice with a tiny burning ember at its core.

“But – but –” Hyunjin spluttered, looking from Minho to the sphere. “You looked sick. And I – I was  _ winning _ !” His confusion turned into anger that he couldn’t quite express because of his chattering teeth. Oh, the Blackblood temper…

Minho clicked his tongue. “You have a lot to learn.” When Hyunjin glowered at him, Minho said, “I am gifted with the element of water. You know that much, yes?” Hyunjin reluctantly nodded. “And ice,” Minho snapped his fingers and small pebbles of ice fell from the air, landing around Hyunjin, “comes from water.” Minho let the iced pebbles melt until they were puddles of water. Minho waved a hand, and a shower of hail fell from the air, covering the entire floor now. “The good thing about water is that it’s everywhere. In the air, in our bodies. Your fire on the other hand…”

He smiled as Hyunjin’s eyes widened in realization. “I can’t replenish my magic like you can,” the witchling said, his voice a whisper. “I can’t summon more from the air or from…” he gestured to the empty bottle, “from bottles, or from bodies.”

“There are ways,” Minho told him, waving a hand to get rid of all the ice – he felt bad for the shivering witchling. “I can teach you.”

Hyunjin quickly shook his head, his eyes narrowed. “My coven teaches me everything I need to know.”

“Your coven,” Minho sneered, “has never had anyone like you in their ranks. They can teach you how to attack, how to curse, how to defend, how to deceive, but they don’t understand your magic as well as I do. From one gifted witch to another, let me help you.”

He could see the cogs turning in Hyunjin’s mind as he considered the offer. He waited with bated breath. “Why?” Hyunjin asked, swallowing hard. “Why would you help me? What do you get out of it?”

“One less enemy,” Minho answered with a shrug. It wasn’t a lie. “And…” he hesitated. He couldn’t tell Hyunjin about the prophecy. Not yet. “All I ask, is that you hear me out when I ask you to listen.”

“If my mother finds out—”

“Mikka won’t find out about this,” Minho promised. “You have my word.” Hyunjin still looked doubtful so he added, “You’re not the first Blackblood I’ve rendezvoused with in secret.”

Hyunjin looked taken aback by this information, but he nodded. “Alright, then. Deal.”

“Deal,” Minho grinned.

“Wait,” Hyunjin tilted his head to the side and studied the ball of ice still afloat with its wisp of flame. “You could’ve ended this stupid game earlier. Why’d you wait so long?”

The corner of Minho’s lips lifted into a smirk, “Where’s the fun in that, witchling?”


	3. Chapter 3

Raucous music blared from each of the store’s speakers – hip-hop or EDM or whatever else people listened to these days. Minho waved a hand dismissively, using his magic to shield his ears from the onslaught of the music. 

When the noise had quietened to an acceptable level, and he could hear only the soft mumbles of the other shoppers and staff, he continued browsing each pair of shoes poised stylishly on raised platforms as if they were being displayed at an art gallery – they may as well have been, considering the prices.

Born into the Silvercloak Coven, money had never been a problem. So he felt no guilt as he pointed to a pair of polished black dress shoes with shiny gold buckles. The attendant rushed off to find his size, and Minho turned on his heel slowly, giving the witchling enough time to hide.

Minho was aware that for the past week, the Blackblood heir Hyunjin had been tailing him like an inquisitive puppy. Minho allowed it, if only because he needed the witchling to see that he wasn’t going to be double-crossed and turned in to Mikka if he accepted Minho’s offer. 

He crossed over to the large display window, his hands clasped behind his back as he surveyed the busy sidewalk. Hyunjin’s cloaking magic was strong, but not strong enough. Or perhaps Minho’s experience just made it easier for him to make out the subtle nuances that gave Hyunjin away – a slight disparity between shades of green, a slight blur where lines should be smooth. 

Minho really hadn’t been that fond of cloaking magic himself, but he’d used it a fair amount when he found himself in unsavoury situations. He’d once portalled into Mary Antoinette’s wine cellar on a dare, and ended up just behind two of her servants. He’d realized the importance of cloaking magic back then – because he was awful at it, and what ensued was a riveting chase across the waters of the Seine. 

He looked away from the window and handed his credit card to the clerk. And with his purchase in hand, he resumed his stroll. 

He was beginning to enjoy having Hyunjin on his tail. It was most gratifying every time Minho stopped at a cafe or restaurant, eating something delicious in full view of Hyunjin. On a few occasions Minho had found himself feeling rather warm, as if an invisible blanket had been thrown over him – Hyunjin’s magic had a mind of its own, it seemed, and it was something that Minho would need to remedy if Hyunjin accepted his offer.

He popped a piece of the tart into his mouth, moaning as bursts of lemon and sugar exploded across his tongue. This is precisely why he was a regular at this particular cafe. The woman who owned this cafe was married to a Bracken witch who had developed some kind of flavour enhancing powder. It made everything in the cafe taste spectacular.

He frowned when a curling slip of paper materialized beside the remnants of his tart. And when he caught sight of the slight blur dashing away, the corners of his lips lifted. He took a sip of coffee before reading the note. It said:

_ I think that the best time for a stroll along the canal is 9pm. Did you know that you get the best view from the moorings? _

Minho smiled to himself as he sipped his coffee. 

There were quite a few people out and about, lounging on the banks of the Emdeline. The night was warm enough to allow for late night rendezvous. Minho had even forgone a coat, donning just a loose shirt over his jeans. He strolled along the bank of the Emdeline, watching as soft ripples appeared over the moonlit water. Now and then a fish would dart to the surface before diving beneath again. 

He reached a stone stairwell that receded from the slope and led down to the moorings. He glanced at the watch strapped to his wrist – two minutes until nine. He was just on time. Several boats were already rented, bobbing on the Emdeline as couples basked beneath the moonlight. 

Minho stepped onto the pier, his boots clacking against the worn wooden surface. His eyes scanned the remaining boats, all of them empty. He glanced at his watch again – one minute past nine. Hyunjin was late, and if there was anything Minho hated, it was tardiness. He frowned and took a seat on the half wall separating the stairwell from the moorings. 

Ten more minutes passed and Minho was beginning to think he’d misinterpreted the witchling’s message. Had he really just been suggesting that Minho take a stroll? How disappointing.

“I got a bit caught up with stuff.”

Minho was on his feet swiftly. He looked at the witchling with folded arms. “And you expected me to wait?”

Hyunjin’s lips quirked into a smug smile, “You  _ did _ wait.”

Minho rolled his eyes. “So? Yes or no? What’s your decision?”

Hyunjin stared at him for a moment, only the slightest bit of hesitation in his eyes. He nodded, “I’ll trust you. For now.”

For now? Well, it was progress anyway. 

Minho pursed his lips, “Let’s go then.”

Hyunjin huffed out a laugh, “What? We’re not stopping to enjoy the view?”

Minho ignored him and began to draw shapes in the air, glowing white symbols hovering before him. He used his fingers to arrange the symbols in the correct order, stepping back in satisfaction when a portal began to open.

“So where the hell are we going?”

Minho arched a brow, “To your first lesson. I see no need to prolong anything.” Especially when he had only a few months to convince Hyunjin to join their cause.

“Right now?” the witchling gawked at him, his jaw lowered. “Now  _ now _ ?”

Minho ran his fingers through his hair, frustrated at his reluctance. “Do you have somewhere else to be, witchling?”

“Uh…” Hyunjin scratched the back of his head, sneakers grating against the wood as he shifted from foot to foot. “Well, no, I guess not.”

Minho stepped into the portal, “Then keep up.”

The portal opened into a huge cavern, the parchment colored walls covered in painted symbols. The way forward was lit by flaming torches slotted into iron grafts that had been built into the stone walls.

“Where the fuck are we?” Hyunjin spun around in a slow circle, eyes wide as they took in the high ceilings of the cavern. “Are we even in Emdel?”

“We’re in the Alcoa Mountains,” Minho told him, pressing onward. “Two hours away from Emdel.”

“But…” Hyunjin lingered behind. “Why couldn’t you teach me back at your apartment?”

Minho snorted, “Because  _ I’m _ not your teacher.”

“Wait.”

With an impatient scowl, Minho turned around and fixed Hyunjin with a glare.

“You didn’t mention bringing any third person into this deal,” Hyunjin said, teeth tugging at his lower lip.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Minho waved away his concern. “He’s not going to sell you out to your coven. He’s not very fond of them.”

Hyunjin blinked. “And you think it’s a good idea for this person to be my teacher? If he doesn’t like my coven—”

“He doesn’t like any coven,” Minho corrected. “And he owes me a debt anyway, so everything is fine.” Minho had thought long and hard about whether to cash in his century old debt. It was worth it, he decided. “Now, if you stop dallying, I’ll tell you about him.”

They walked side by side, guided by the flickering flames. Every time Hyunjin stopped to gawk at something, Minho pushed him forward. “Do you want to know who he is or not?”

Hyunjin scowled but nodded, “Fine.”

“Around two centuries ago, there was a Bracken witch who pushed the limits of his magic too far,” Minho began to explain. “Like the rest of his coven, he was obsessed with obtaining knowledge. And he was prepared to go to great lengths to obtain that knowledge.”

“What did he do?”

“I’m getting to that,” Minho snapped, shooting the witchling with a derisive look. “His parents walked in on him in the process of summoning the demon queen Raweol.”

Hyunjin gasped, stopping in his tracks. “What? No, no, but that – even my coven forbids it. We don’t tangle with demons.”

Minho nodded, “They kept his indiscretion a secret. Until he did it again, and again. He… enjoyed it. Still does, actually. He was banished from his coven.”

“And you want me to  _ learn _ from him?” Hyunjin’s eyes were as wide as saucers, as if Minho had grown four heads. “A  _ banished witch _ who summons the  _ demon _ queen?”

“No one summons the queen.” 

Both Minho and Hyunjin whirled around to see the witch standing in their path. His shock of white hair had a single black streak running through. He wore a tattered blood red robe which matched the red streaks that ran across his face.

“No one summons the queen,” Chan repeated, his head cocked to the side as he overtly studied Hyunjin. “She makes her presence felt where she sees fit. And you,” he raised an eyebrow at Hyunjin, “have been extraordinarily blessed by her.” 

Hyunjin loosened his defensive stance, taking a curious step towards Chan now. “What is that supposed to mean? Blessed how?”

Chan nodded towards passageway behind him, “Follow me.” His gaze flickered to Minho, giving him a look of acknowledgment before proceeding, his robe billowing behind him.

“Come on,” Minho urged the witchling. “Chan doesn’t bite. Or at least,” he added, “he won’t bite us.”

The passageway flowed into the mouth of a chamber lit by large burning braziers. The ceilings were high and pocked with stalagmites. Minho’s skin prickled from the tension spun from magic that Chan used to keep the entire system of caves from falling apart. 

As with all the other times Minho had visited Chan, the floors were covered in red marks. Some had faded into brown, while others were wet and crimson. Minho glanced at the deer carcass strung up from the ceiling and suppressed a shudder.

“What is this place?” Hyunjin asked with wide eyes, turning on the spot. 

“A temple,” Chan answered simply. “And my home.”

“And you worship the demon queen here,” Hyunjin’s stare was accusatory and filled with disdain. 

“I worship my queen here, yes,” Chan’s lips quirked into a smile. “As should you. Our queen is wonderful. Our queen is—”

“Chan,” Minho interrupted, growing tired of the witch’s fanaticism. “I did not bring the witchling to you so that you can recruit him into the demon worshipping cult you’ve made for yourself here. Get to the point.”

“It’s all bullshit anyway,” Hyunjin spat. “I don’t want anything to do with any demon bitch.”

“Hyunjin,” Minho reprimanded, alarmed when he noted the way Chan’s lip curled. The last thing he wanted was for Hyunjin to antagonize Chan. “Do you want to learn or not?”

“How is  _ he _ supposed to teach me?” Hyunjin stood with his arms crossed over his chest. 

“Oh,” Chan threw his head back and laughed. His laughter echoed through the chamber and filled the caverns that branched off it. “I would have been surprised if you didn’t doubt me.”

Minho stood within range of both Hyunjin and Chan, not wanting something untoward to happen. If need be, he would protect Hyunjin. However arrogant he was, the witchling was his priority.

Chan strode over to the wall on the far left, clambering up onto a ledge with surprising vigour. “Do you see this?” he gestured to the images carved into the wall, probably by his own hand.

Minho studied the images. They seemed to depict a city. A city in flames. “What is that?”

“The queen’s land,” Chan smiled proudly. Raweol’s land. “I’ve yet to see it in wakefulness but in my dreams…”

Hyunjin snorted, “Your  _ dreams _ ?”

“He’s a Bracken,” Minho murmured, stepping closer to get a better view. “His dreams have meaning. A Bracken witch once told me that sleep often shows you the truth you cannot see in wakefulness.” 

Something flickered over Chan’s face then, and he looked away to hide the flash of pain Minho had glimpsed in his eyes. Banishment came with many consequences.

Chan cleared his throat and continued, “The queen’s land is built upon fire and within fire. The same fire that you, Heir, have freely flowing through your veins. That fire,” he pointed at one of the torches bracketed into the wall, “is different from your fire. Yours is a fire that not only has the power to destroy, but also to create – that is, when it is harnessed correctly. You can do great things, Hwang Hyunjin of the Blackbloods.”

Yes, Minho had suspected as much. But the witchling seemed less than happy about this.

“Are you saying that my – my gift comes from  _ Hell _ ?” Hyunjin balked, a look of disgust on his face. It was a hard truth to stomach.

“Hell is a crude term to describe my queen’s land,” Chan growled. “But yes, the queen has blessed you with a gift. The Blackbloods have a very special connection to the queen. Haven’t you heard the legends?”

“A gift from a demon,” Hyunjin muttered, shaking his head. “Great.”

“Minho told me that you would learn how to replenish your fire?”

Hyunjin’s head snapped towards Chan and he nodded. “Do you know how?”

Chan hummed, jumping down from the ledge and landing cleanly on his feet. “Would you like to learn the easy way or the hard way?” Before Hyunjin could answer, Chan added, “I must warn you – if your coven catches wind of this your punishment will be the same as mine. Do you understand the risk?”

Hyunjin exhaled through his nose, his jaw working as he deliberated his answer. Neither Minho nor Chan pushed him for an answer; both were content to wait. This wasn’t an easy decision to make, and if Hyunjin chose not to go ahead with it, Minho wasn’t going to push him, even if the fate of the world hung in the balance.

“What’s the easy way?”

Chan’s smile was unsettling. “You replenish your magic by drawing energy from the queen’s land. But the queen requires a blood sacrifice, either from yourself, or from another.”

Hyunjin balked, “No, that’s not – no way.”

Chan laughed, his brows inching upward. “A Blackblood who dislikes bloodshed? And a pureblood too? I can’t help but think that the queen would be disappointed.”

“I’m not here to please the demon,” Hyunjin said through gritted teeth.

“Oh, but you’ll need to,” Chan sighed, absentmindedly running his fingers over the red streaks that ran across the milky skin of his face. “There is no taking without giving. But,” he began to pace back and forth, “that is the easy way. The harder way involves less violence on your part. Rituals that you’ll need to learn how to perform regularly.”

Hyunjin pursed his lips, but nodded, “I guess I can do that. The harder way, I mean.”

Chan raised a brow, “It will take time and you will need patience.”

“That’s fine,” Minho cut in, feeling a rush of relief. “He’ll be patient. You’ll send me a message when you need him?”

Chan inclined his head, “I will. May I have a word with you before you leave, Minho?”

Minho knew what he wanted. He waved a hand towards the passageway, “I’ll meet you outside, witchling.”

Hyunjin looked from Minho to Chan, his gaze narrowed in suspicion. “But—”

“This is a private matter,” Minho snapped, watching the witchling recoil from him. His gaze softened, “Please, Hyunjin.”

With what looked like a pout, Hyunjin vanished into the passageway. And Minho fixed Chan with an amused stare. “You’d like to know how Changbin is faring, right?”

Chan swallowed hard, looking down at his shifting feet. “Is he well?”

“Yes,” Minho said. “And he misses you too.”

Chan’s lips parted as if he would say something more but he merely nodded and turned his back, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Minho smiled sadly. Ah, the consequences of banishment.

“It’s strange,” Hyunjin said when they portalled back into Emdel. “He’s like a Bracken, but he also seems… other.”

Minho hummed in agreement, looking out at the canal. It was late and there were no more boats bobbing along the water. “He’ll always be a Bracken. But I think he’s surrendered too much of himself to Raweol.”

“Raweol…” Hyunjin wrapped his arms around himself but Minho could see his shudder. “Do you really think that I…” he trailed off with a sigh. “Do you think my coven was really created by the demon queen like the stories say? And does that mean – does that mean that we’re all partly… like her? Demonic…”

Minho frowned, “The stories could be just that – stories. Or they could be true.” The confusion on Hyunjin’s face morphed into disgust that was probably directed at himself. “Blood is just a substance, witchling,” Minho said, not unkindly. He placed a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder, “It doesn’t define you. Nor does it define your actions and decisions. More importantly than blood, more importantly than your coven, you are  _ Hyunjin _ . And that’s all that matters.”

Hyunjin kept his gaze trained on the sky, amethyst eyes sparkling as they reflected the stars. But what he asked completely took Minho by surprise. “Are you and Chan a thing?”

Minho gawked at him and then burst into laughter. Hyunjin levelled him with an absurdly serious look. “No,” Minho chuckled. “We’ve never courted –  _ dated _ , I mean,” he added when Hyunjin made a face. “As long as I’ve known Chan, he’s always had his heart set on someone else.”

Hyunjin made a sound of acknowledgment, seemingly satisfied with his answer. “I want ice cream,” he said after a while, causing Minho to raise a brow.

“It’s 2am, witchling.”

“There’s a convenience store open on Clifford Street,” Hyunjin said, glancing at Minho out of the corner of his eye.

Minho poked his tongue in his cheek, wondering where this was going. “Off you go then,” he said. “You’re dismissed for today.”

“So you don’t like ice cream?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“So come with me then,” the words left Hyunjin’s lips sounding almost like a whine.

“Hyunj—” Minho froze, feeling something prickly brush down his spine. “Magic,” he whispered. “Someone’s using magic. The wrong kind. Can you feel it?”

Beside him, Hyunjin looked terrified. “Minho, I think you need to leave before they find us.”

Minho narrowed his eyes, unease settling in the pit of his stomach. “What’s going on?”

“That’s – I know what that is,” Hyunjin looked around wide-eyed. “I know  _ who _ it is.”

Minho knew too. Blackbloods.

It was none of Minho’s business. He’d spent too many centuries poking his nose in Blackblood business, trying to prevent them from causing chaos.

But he was too curious to let the opportunity out of his grasp. He needed to see what Hyunjin was like with his own kind. He needed to know how much damage the Blackblood Coven had inflicted on the witchling. And he needed to know how much effort it was going to take to counter whatever lies and manipulation they’d grown him up on. 

So he followed them, staying a few paces behind and using his strongest masking spell.

Minho observed the two witches who accompanied Hyunjin. He recognized Seungmin immediately with his dark hair and the array of piercings on his left ear. Minho had a few run-ins with him in the past. As far as Blackbloods went, Seungmin was one of the worst. It made him uneasy that Hyunjin kept the company of that particular witch.

Minho turned his attention to the shorter witch. A witch he didn’t recognize – a witchling like Hyunjin, perhaps. He wore a red beanie, tufts of blonde hair sticking out from beneath. 

“Where were you?” Seungmin asked, sounding rather put-out with Hyunjin. “You disappeared after dinner.” 

“I just went for a walk,” Hyunjin mumbled, shuffling between the two witches like a prisoner bound in invisible chains.

“A walk,” the blonde witch clicked his tongue. “A walk… out of Emdel?” Hyunjin froze in place, and Minho could feel the panic radiating from him. “Must’ve been quite a long walk. Right, Seungmin?”

Seungmin nodded, “I was really concerned when Jisung told me he couldn’t find you, Hyunie.”

“What do you mean?” Hyunjin asked, sounding impressively calm. “I was right here. At the moorings.”

“Were you?” the blonde, Jisung, demanded. “Because my tracking spells turned up no trace of you in Emdel. And when I tried to track you out of Emdel there was a strong counter spell stopping me.” Minho had weaved a spell to make sure that neither he nor Hyunjin could be tracked to the Alcoa Mountains. He was glad that the spell held.

“Oh, I don’t know, Jisung,” Hyunjin turned on his companion, his amethyst eyes flashing. “Maybe your tracking magic is just really shitty.” He placed a hand on Jisung’s cheek, and his tone grew patronizing, “Next time, ask Seungmin to help you before you attempt the more difficult spells, okay?” 

Jisung pushed away from Hyunjin who cocked his head to the side and gave Seungmin a smile that Minho could only describe as sultry. It made something ugly twist in his stomach. “I’m sure if  _ you _ used a tracking spell you’d be able to find me in a heartbeat. You magic after all is… impressive.”

The corner of Seungmin’s lips lifted. He was obviously taken with the praise from Hyunjin. “Come,” Seungmin placed a hand on Hyunjin’s shoulder, “let’s play.”

Minho narrowed his eyes in suspicion.  _ Play? _

He followed the trio away from the moorings and into an alleyway. He had to bite back an angry hiss when he saw what they had planned. This was what he’d felt – the wrong kind of magic. 

A human man cowered in the alleyway, terrified, and for good reason. He was caged between the eight legs of a gigantic spider, no doubt spun from magic. Seungmin waved his hand and the spider’s legs shifted, leaving just enough room for the man to attempt to flee. Jisung snickered as the man ran into an invisible wall. The spider remained stationary, waiting for orders.

“What should we do with him, Hyunjin?” Seungmin asked. “It’s your call.”

So this was how they’d raised the witchling. How many times before had he joined them in this? Did he… enjoy it? 

“I can’t find the pattern,” Hyunjin murmured, frustration crossing his features as he lowered his hand.

Seungmin clicked his tongue and gave Hyunjin a smug smile, “Let me help.” He intertwined his fingers with Hyunjin’s, pressing close to the witchling; it was the oldest trick in the book and Minho had to hold in a scoff at the slight flush on Hyunjin’s cheeks. 

Deciding that he’d seen enough, Minho brought down the invisible barrier that Seungmin had cast to trap the man. He made himself visible to the man only for a second, beckoning him forward. When the man tried to escape again, and successfully sprinted down the alleyway, neither of the Blackbloods saw it coming. 

Before their magic could give chase, Minho caught up to the human, portalling him to a safe place before any harm could be done.

“I told you,” Changbin said, his signature black button-down cloak billowing as he paced the rooftop of the random apartment block where they’d chosen to meet. “I told you it won’t be easy.”

“I’ll talk to him,” Minho nodded, brushing his bangs away from his eyes. In all honesty, it had seemed as if Hyunjin had been reluctant to be in the company of the other two Blackbloods. As if they were babysitting him. And of course Mikka would have him watched; he was her Heir. He considered Changbin with a curious stare, “I know I’ve asked before, but are you sure—”

“Minho,” Changbin’s gaze was piercing, “my vision did  _ not _ lie. Unless we join with the Blackblood Heir, there will be war. We will  _ all _ suffer. Emdel will burn. And like lava seeping through cracks in the ground, the suffering will spread until the entire world burns.”

Minho frowned and then gave Changbin a wry smile, “Always so dramatic, Bin. Once a poet, always a poet.”

Changbin snorted but failed to fight his self-satisfied smile, “I  _ dabbled _ in poetry. That’s all.”

But Minho had been there to witness it. An eyebrow rose skeptically, “You wrote most of Shakespeare’s sonnets and didn’t even bother taking any credit for the masterpieces.”

Changbin shrugged it off with a sigh, “He was a good friend and he made excellent blueberry tarts when he had me over for tea.”

Minho laughter faded at the sight of the ring that dangled from a silver chain around Changbin’s neck. He cleared his throat, trying to think of the best way to approach such a sensitive topic. He didn’t want Changbin to conjure a whirlwind and have him thrown from the rooftop – he’d experienced it one too many times and it was  _ painful _ .

“What?” Changbin fixed him with a hard stare. “Whatever it is, say it.”

“It’s just that, you know…” Minho scratched the back of his head. “I saw Chan today and—”

“I don’t want to know,” Changbin turned away from him, staring up at the night’s sky. “Whatever it is, I don’t want to know.” Minho mentally counted down from five, before Changbin did as expected and asked, “Fine, is he – is he okay?”

“Well…” Minho truly didn’t know how to answer that. If you asked Chan, he’d say he was happy and thriving. But to an outsider like Minho, he was… gone.

“If there was a way to bring him back,” Changbin began, arms wrapped around himself, “do you think he – he…” he trailed off with a heavy sigh.

“Bin,” Minho placed a hand on his shoulder, “even if your coven took him back, he’s too far gone. There’s no taking him back from the demon queen he serves.”

Changbin squeezed his eyes shut for a few seconds, opening them with renewed clarity. He was always good at that – locking away his misfortunes so he wouldn’t have to revisit them. “While we’re on the topic of ex-lovers,” the Bracken Heir said, “there’s something you should know. The Blackblood Foreign Ambassador will be visiting Emdel next week.” Without further explanation, Changbin stepped into the portal he had waiting, and vanished. 

Minho reeled from the news that Changbin had just thrown at him. The Blackblood Foreign Ambassador… 

Jeongin was coming back to Emdel after a century. He remembered Jeongin’s parting words as if they’d only been whispered into his ear yesterday. And when he touched his fingers to his lips he could feel the ghost of their last kiss. 

_ “They can’t keep me away from you forever. I’ll come back for you, Minho,” _

_ “Promise?” _

_ “Promise.” _

But Minho wasn’t sure he wanted Jeongin to keep that promise. With Jeongin, Minho had been reckless. Jeongin had brought out the worst in him, and Minho had once loved him for that. 

But not anymore, he tried to convince himself.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading 💖 details will be updated after reveals!


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